


Compromises

by phantomlistener



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:42:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomlistener/pseuds/phantomlistener
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus Snape is Headmaster of Hogwarts. And Minerva McGonagall's responsibility is to her students, no matter how much she might wish to fight back. A brief look at Hogwarts life during The Deathly Hallows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromises

There have been happier days.

That seems to have become her motto, recently, half-resigned and half-furious as she is. Happier days when every moment flew by unnoticed and a lesson was a trial simply if someone managed to transfigure their textbook in to a spider. She should have treasured those non-descript moments of irritation and joy - hoarded them - savoured them - so that now, when every day was a contorted dance of obedience and rebellion, she could remember every precious, insignificant detail.

Should have, didn't, doesn't have a chance now.

She heads for the staff room instinctively and she's got her hand on the door when she remembers that the Headmaster wanted to see her. Ten minutes ago. She rolls her eyes and turns to head down the corridor, thinking as she does of how many times she's done this before: meetings with Albus, the occasional chess game late at night, and even the rare few times she was summoned to the Headmaster's office as a student.

In the face of all those memories, the idea of Severus Snape sitting in that room - in that chair - fills her with a bone-deep anger, but she schools her features in to their usual calm and continues towards the staircase marking the entrance to the office.

He's waiting for her as she enters, seated in the wooden chair like a king. "You're late," he observes expressionlessly.

She inclines her head in agreement - "I am." - refusing to offer up a pathetic excuse as if she were one of his cowering students.

"I expect better of my staff," is all he says, and she remains silent.

Today is not the day to make a move.

But he's speaking again, imperiously, as if this office is his right and a justification for every sin he has ever committed. "Your Gryffindors are becoming...rebellious," he says silkily. "I suggest you find a way to curb their enthusiasm for childish pranks before I am forced to deal with them myself."

"Deal with them like you dealt with Albus?" she snaps, the words out of her mouth before she can stop them.

"If necessary."

She believes him. Believes that this man, once almost a friend, once trusted with the deepest secrets of the Order, would happily use an Unforgivable Curse on her students. It's on the tip of her tongue to tell him he'll have to kill her first, but she doesn't want to tempt him - and besides, she rather thinks he already knows. So she stands straight and says: "I'll talk to them."

"Then that will be all, Minerva."

There certainly have been happier days, she thinks as she turns to go - for her childen as well as for her. Tempting as it is to give in to her rage and fight back, she's old enough and experienced enough to know that she can do more by doing nothing.

Oh, she'll speak to the Gryffindors, officially, and tell them to stop, but there'll be a way to let them know - indirectly, of course - that she approves.

Everything is not lost.

Somewhere, Harry, Ron and Hermione are fighting. She might not know where, or how, or why, but so many years as Albus' friend have left her used to not knowing. Hating it, yes, but used to it, and this way she can at least not give them away if she is captured, tortured or drugged.

She doesn't fool herself that they aren't all possibilities, even if nothing has happened yet.

Her hand is on the staffroom door, again, and she lets herself remember days when she would have walked in with a smile and picked up her copy of _Transfiguration Today_ , keeping an ear on the gossip at the same time.

No more.

She walks a tightrope-thin line between conformity and insurrection, and it takes all her energy not to fall off.


End file.
